Simply Lovely
by black1beard
Summary: It was a week before Valentine's Day and Love was in the air, literally. However, Love was only one of her names. To some she was Sweet, or Good, or Caring. And to the lucky, she was True. But most of the time, she was simply Lovely. Set nearly a decade after the movie. Jack must deal with consequences of kissing the embodiment of Love: accidentally ending the world. New OCs. JxOC
1. Chapter 1: Love and War

Author's Notes: Thank you all for taking the time to read my story. For some reason, this idea just hit me and wouldn't let me go till I wrote it down. Also, though this story is rated T, I just wanted to warn you all that this is a story that recognizes the existence of sex and sexual desires. This is not for children.

So anyway, I hope you all enjoy Simply Lovely. Please take the time to fav/follow and review. I love getting feedback.

* * *

Chapter 1: Love and War

_In Which We are Reacquainted with Old Friends and Meet a few New Ones_

It was a week before Valentine's Day and love was in the air, driving Jack Frost crazy. He hated Valentine's Day. Every year, the people of the world became more concerned with their long boring walks in the park and quiet dinner dates instead of having fun. Jack had spent decades on his own personal campaign against the holiday, disrupting romantic kisses with snowballs and strategically placed sheets of ice. The mischievous frost sprite had even managed to protect Jamie, the most important person in his life, from the damn holiday's influence for years. He should have known that he couldn't protect the boy forever.

"What do you mean you have a date tonight?!" Jack exclaimed in horror from Jamie's bedroom window.

The gangly teenager self-consciously ran a hand through his unruly mop of brown hair, "Well, Cupcake… I mean, Martha had two tickets to the movies and asked if I wanted to go. It's no big deal."

"No big deal?!" Jack jumped from the window sill like furious cat and landed in front Jamie. The boy's height was making it difficult for Jack to glare down at him, but he managed.

Much had changed since that wonderful day when little nine year-old Jamie Bennett had first seen Jack Frost. For one thing, both he and Jamie had grown. But while Jamie's transformation had been one of hormones and growth spurts, Jack's had been something a bit more magical. Nothing is more mortifying, not to mention extremely awkward, than having old St. Nick sit you down to explain the metaphysical birds and the bees. Apparently, there was more to becoming a guardian then Jack had realized; like puberty.

"Sure, you think it's all harmless now, but wait till you're staring into each other's eyes for hours on end," Jack said as he paced within the small room, throwing up his arms and sending out agitated streaks of frost across the floor. "If you do this, you won't want to go have fun anymore."

"You're not my dad, Jack!" Jamie cried in frustration and confusion. It hurt to not have Jack's support. "Hell, my parents are thrilled I've got a date. I am almost seventeen, Jack, and I've never even kissed a girl." The boy sighed, looking down at his feet, "Just once, I would like to not be alone for Valentine's Day."

Jack humphed and when Jamie looked up, he was sitting on the window sill with his back to boy. His long arms and legs were folded in a show of defiance, like a little child refusing to eat his greens. It was one of Jack's odd personality quirks that, for all the times he was cool and mature, he could still be a stubborn brat.

Shaking his head at his old friend, Jamie grabbed his coat. If he didn't hurry, he would be late for his first date ever and Martha had never exactly been the patient type. As he opened the door to leave, Jamie said over his shoulder, "I'll see you when I get back."

The door closed and Jack's shoulders slumped. Under his breath, he muttered, "If you still can."

Jamie was growing up much faster than Jack would like. It was a fact of life, but Jack fought the steady passage of time as fiercely as he fought Valentine's Day. He knew the day was coming; the day Jamie would lose his child-like eyes and stop seeing the mischievous Jack Frost. Already, most of the boy's friends could no longer see him. They now thought of him as make-believe, a treasured part of their childhood, but not a real person. In truth, that hadn't bothered Jack too much. Children all around the world could now see him if he wished, but Jamie was special. He was the first to believe in him and Jack didn't want to let him go.

There had to be something he could do to keep Jamie from falling in love, to keep him from kissing a girl. Jack stuck his tongue out in disgust at the thought of kissing. Kissing was not only boring, it was gross. That was why his favorite time to mess with people was right when they were about to kiss. He would do just about anything to stop couples from performing public displays of affection. And he had gotten good at it.

Suddenly, Jack slapped his hand against his forehead as a beautifully simple and painfully obvious answer dawned on him. He was the master of ruined dates, the king of the missed kiss. If he played his cards right, he could save his friend and still have fun in the process.

With a determined glint in his eye, Jack grabbed his crook and jumped from the window sill and out into the cold February night. The chilled night air swept him up high into the sky, his dark blue blazer flapping in the breeze as a mischievous smile pulled at his lips. Jack Frost's war on Valentine's Day had just gotten personal.

* * *

It was a week before Valentine's Day and Love was in the air, literally. However, Love was only one of her names. She had many. To some she was Sweet, or Good, or Caring. Now and then she was Charitable and Thoughtful. Sometimes, she was Passionate, when the mood strikes. And to the lucky, she was True. But most of the time, she was simply Lovely.

Dancing from cloud to cloud, Lovely twirled with joy as she sent her little winged cherubs on missions to the world bellow, filling people's hearts with love. This was her favorite time of year. It was a time when everyone, young and old, rich or poor, forgot their petty squabbles and remembered why they loved each other. It was a time for new beginnings and fresh starts. It was a time for love in all its forms and it made her heart sing.

Wrapped in her happiness, dancing across the sky, Lovely did not notice a single frantic cherub as he zipped and dodged in front of her. She could not hear his anxious twitters, chirps or, finally, screeching caws above her own melodious singing. In frustration, the little cherub flew back from her and prepared to take a nose dive. Several of his brethren desperately chirped at him, begging him to reconsider, but he ignored their wise council. He had important news and it was critical that Lovely heard it. So, the little winged creature lifted his head in silent prayer, crossed himself and cannon balled the personification of Love.

It started as a small sound, a screeching noise just outside the range of Lovely's hearing. As it grew steadily louder in volume, Lovely ceased her graceful choreography and looked around. The surrounding cherubs were twittering wildly at her and pointing. Following their frantic gestures, Lovely glanced up only to catch a fleeting glimpse of a screeching, hawkish face right before it slammed into her, flinging her and the hapless cherub twenty-thousand feet to the ground below. A tense silence followed, the remaining cherubs staring slack jawed at the Lovely shaped hole in the clouds.

Lovely groaned as she came too in a quiet wood, a large gap in the foliage marking the path of her decent. Shifting slightly, she rubbed her soar bum, trying to alleviate some of the bruising that was more than likely spreading across her tender rump. She ran a graceful hand threw her soft golden brown hair and frowned as it got caught in a tangle. Leaves and detritus had made a rat's nest of her beautiful hair, making Lovely pout. She hated getting her hair mussed.

A small movement on her lap drew her attention and she looked down. Curled up in a little ball, black wings with white tips folded neatly on his back, was Frank. Lovely let loose a long, aggravated sigh.

Frank was a good cherub, if a little excitable. He insisted that someone had declared war on Valentine's Day, someone who wasn't _Her_. And for the first decade, she listened to his warnings and observed these "_attacks on love_." But by the second decade, Lovely found no proof of an offender. To her, the fumbled kisses and ruined dates appeared to be nothing more than a string of bad luck. Apparently, Frank hadn't given up on finding the imaginary culprit like she instructed.

Lucky for Frank, Lovely was also Patient and Kind. Of course, patience always has its limits and she was pretty sure she was reaching hers. Taking three calming breaths, Lovely reached out and patted the little guy on the head.

Sleepily, Frank opened his golden eyes and peered up innocently at his Lady. He, like the other cherubs, looked very little like the chubby babies humans loved to put on their Valentine's Day cards. For one, they were not babies (Lovely had always disapproved of child labor). And a chubby body did not make for easy flying. So, though her cherubs were small with powerful feathered wings and their weapon of choice _was_ the bow and arrow; that was where the similarities ended. Lovely's cherubs were more like miniature young men with the wings of eagles, their avian features standing in complement to their human forms.

"Alright, Frank," Lovely leaned back on her arms and looked the cherub squarely in the eye, "what is it _this time_?"

Frank's head snapped up and he jumped into the air, only to settle on Lovely's bent knee, head cocked to the side in curiosity. He had expected her to be yelling at him by now, not smiling at him indulgently.

Cautiously, Frank began to recount his tale. Lovely listened quietly while the cherub hopped from one knee to the other, head bobbing as he cooed. Now and then he would snap his wings open dramatically to emphasize his own valor in his tale.

Lovely sighed in frustration. Frank was crowing the same old tune. The mysterious villain was active again and out to destroy Valentine's Day. But Lovely had indulged Frank and his delusions for long enough. After a long weary sigh, she cut off the little cherub's rant, "I've heard quite enough, Frank. I thought I told you to leave the matter alone."

Frank pouted and squawked defiantly. But Lovely held up an authoritative hand, stopping him mid caw, "That's _enough_. You have been neglecting your duties for far too long. Did you at least remind Mr. Sato that it's his anniversary tonight, like you were supposed to?"

A blush crept over Frank's avian cheeks and he ducked his head, cooing his shame. Cherubs were mischievous and playful by nature, but they took their jobs deadly seriously. They knew what it did to Lovely when they failed.

"I thought so," Lovely shook her head in disappointment. She was going to be feeling that later. It was a hazard of her job. She could feel the blissful love from the billions of people all around the world, but when she failed in her duty; their heartache was like an open wound.

By that point, a number of Lovely's cherub horde had found them and were fluttering around their heads. There screeches and caws were jeers at poor Frank. They too, were tired of his conspiracy theories and his dereliction of duty. In a final effort to justify his actions, Frank frantically squawked at his Lady.

Lovely's eyes widened and she held up her hands for silence. A hush fell over the grove. Only the sound of a distant babbling brook and rustling of folded wings could be heard in the silence. Her eyes narrowed and, voice deadly serious, she asked the hapless cherub, "Can you repeat that?"

Frank squawked self-consciously in the silence, the eyes of Lovely and his brethren boring into him.

"Jamie Bennett. Are you sure?"

Again, Frank squawked, hopping briefly into the air, his feathers slapping against his brown leather jerkin.

This was concerning indeed. Jamie Bennett had been slowly making his way up Lovely's Never Been Kissed List ever since he hit puberty. Not the top, of course. She never looked at the top anymore.

The Never Been Kissed List was an ancient tome, as old as Lovely herself. All those destined for romantic love found their names on the List. She never understood how. It had simply always been. Its powers were unfathomable and its designs were cloaked in mystery. Like the sun always rose in the East and set in the West, the List was immutable in its certainty. It was cruel like that.

To be left on the list for too long was to fail in her duty. And for some reason, Jamie Bennett had been a failure. Every attempt she made to let romantic love into this boy's life had failed and the situation was getting dire. Apparently, Frank had thought so as well and shadowed the boy. Now he believed he knew why the young Bennett was loveless; it was the monster out to destroy Valentine's Day.

Lovely stood up and called to the cherub's in the trees, "Siegfried, are you here?"

A loud screech sounded the affirmative as a cherub with a black leather jerkin and russet colored wings dove from the branch of a gnarled old oak. Holding out a leather clad arm like a skilled falconer, Lovely balanced the cherub as he landed. Siegfried was her most skilled follower. Not in five hundred years had his arrow missed its mark and she could not recall that last time he failed to achieve a kiss. She only ever sent him out on the direst of cases; Jamie Bennett's being the most recent.

Offering a candy heart that read, Be Mine, to the hardened cherub, Lovely asked, "Are Jamie Bennett and Martha Dunbar at the movies as planned?"

Siegfried snatched the paisley pink candy from Lovely's grasp and nodded with a caw as he chomped down on every cherub's favorite treat. It had taken him months of careful planning, comparing personality profiles and finding the right match within the boy's friend circle. Then he subtly pushed the two teenagers together, allowing interest to blossom into a delicate form of crush. The movie tickets had been the icing on the cake, giving the skittish kids a no pressure date on familiar territory.

If Siegfried was a hardened four star general, then Frank was a mall cop.

Lovely glanced over at Frank. He had settled down on a fallen log a little ways off, head bobbing up in down nervously. He knew this was his last chance to prove he wasn't crazy.

"Alright, Frank, I'll go watch over these two," Siegfried's feathers bristled and he screeched at the professional slight. Lovely reached over and scratched him under his chin, cooing soothingly she continued, "I was planning on overseeing their date myself anyway. Jamie Bennett has become a bit of a pet project of mine."

Suitably mollified, Siegfried opened his powerful wings and launched himself into the air. With a flick of Lovely's wrist, her mussed hair disentangled itself and tied back in a taught braid. Beneath her feet, a fluffy cloud materialized and lifted her up off the ground. Gesturing to Frank, Lovely said with an indulgent smile, "Come along, sweetie."

Frank jumped into the air and followed as Lovely's cloud began to rise into the star filled sky. Like leaves being pulled by the wind, the rest of the cherub horde took wing, scattering in their Lady's wake. Stretching out her graceful limbs, Lovely pulled her bow and quiver from the ether. They were ancient things, but deceptively ordinary in appearance. As she secured her quiver of arrows to her back, Frank gave her a quizzical look. He had not seen her dress for the field in nearly half a century.

Lovely noticed Franks questioning stare and smiled at him. Pulling back on the bow's string, testing the tension, she winked at the little cherub, "You guys can't have all the fun."

The tiny cloud zipped through the air, moving faster than any plane made by man. Its goal: an ordinary little town with an ordinary movie theater. But what was to happen that night, under the light of the full moon, would be far from ordinary.


	2. Chapter 2: A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Chapter 2: A Kiss is Just a Kiss

_In Which We have a Snowball Fight, Kisses are Exchanged and War is Declared_

The Granada was an old single screen movie theater, the kind that had seen the rise of Charlie Chaplin and the fall of Shirley Temple. Through the years, the old building was passed from owner to owner, constantly being updated and renovated, but somehow it managed to hold onto its stately grandeur.

It was here, on the old overhang that supported the theater's more modern neon sign that Jack Frost found himself. He alighted on the blinking sign, as light as a feather, bare feet finding purchase upon the incandescent strips. With his crook in one hand and the sign in the other, he peered into one of the darkened windows that lined the theater's brick façade. Someone had painted them over in black ages ago, but chips in the paint revealed a musty old room in which a projector was tended by an equally musty old man.

With a few taps of his crook on the window sill, Jack sent long icy tendrils of frost into the room. They spread across the floor and the old man shivered as his breath became visible in the chilled air. He did not notice as lines of frost made its way up the projector and delved into the machine's interior. A terrible squealing noise filled the room as the reel slowed and the film became a jumbled mess.

Even from outside, Jack could hear the cries of dismay from the disgruntled movie goers. He let loose a whoop of laughter as he jumped from the sign and down on to the overhang. Soon, people would be milling out of the theater, its one projector ruined for the evening, and he could get Jamie away from Martha.

On cue, men and women began to file out of the theater, many of them in closely huddled pairs. None of them seemed to be in an irate mood, which surprised Jack. In fact, each human sported a goofy contended smile and many were cuddling up next to one another. Now and then, a pair would lean into kiss and Jack would quickly intervene, sometimes splashing them with cold water or making them slip on black ice. But even these actions barely seemed to deter the unmistakably romantic mood in the air. Jack was about ready to unleash the full force of his chilling mischief when Jamie and Martha finally exited the theater, holding hands. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the two teens. The stocky little girl formerly known as Cupcake had grown into her body. It hadn't been a magical transformation. She didn't suddenly become some supermodel with legs for days. No, the teen was still rather large. She dwarfed most adults and her stocky build never went away. And yet, she was still lovely. She radiated a confidence that her childhood-self had lacked. If she could still remember him, the teen would have attributed it to the day she met Jack.

Jamie smiled happily at Martha as the girl prattled on and on about nothing at all. It was enough to turn the guardian's stomach. But then, the teenage boy locked eyes with the girl and did the unthinkable. He leaned in for a kiss.

In one swift movement, Jack leapt from the theater's overhang and blew into his hand, forming a perfect blue snowball. As he threw the ball of magical ice at the two teens, disrupting their kiss, someone cried out from the shadows, "JACK FROST!"

Jack froze. He was invisible. Not even Jamie could see him when he was cloaked like this. Only Guardians had the ability to pierce through his glamour. Peering into the shadows, Jack watched as a cherub and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen stepped out onto the street. Of course, Jack had seen the cherubs before. One did not get into a war on Valentine's Day without learning how to hide from their keen eyes, but the woman was new. She wore a simple maroon tank top with worn leather greaves and gauntlets, like an ancient Grecian huntress. Her lovely golden brown hair was plaited and tied back by a simple leather thong. To say she was beautiful would have been a gross understatement. He was at a loss for words to describe her. All he knew was that gazing into her gentle green eyes made him feel like he was home.

"How dare you," the woman hissed, protectively stepping in front of the befuddled teenagers as they dusted each other off from the snowball, unaware of the confrontation happening right under their noses. Notching an arrow to her bow and pulling back, she glared at Jack, "You have no right interfering in the affairs of Love, Guardian."

"And who are you supposed to be?" Jack asked with a smirk, leaning back against a light pole, sending tendrils of lacy white frost across the metallic surface, "Halloween isn't for another eight months."

"I'm lovely," the woman said matter-of-factly, "I thought you'd know that." Her little cherub cooed his agreement as he settled himself on her shoulder, nuzzling against her cheek and glaring daggers at Jack.

"You're rather full of yourself," Jack scoffed, "I think you're annoying."

The beautiful woman's face turned a pretty shade of red as she aimed her deadly arrow right at Jack's head. Straightening, Jack rolled his shoulders. Flexing his fingers, frost danced in the air around his hands. He didn't know what to expect from this strange, egotistical woman who refused to give him her name, but he wasn't about to underestimate her. The tension between them built as they prepared for battle.

Suddenly, like the last twist of a violin's string, the tension snapped as the two teenagers behind the magical beings began to snicker. Their snickers swelled into full blown laughter. Jack's lovely opponent turned a questioning gaze toward the couple, only to barely dodge another snowball thrown by the mischievous sprite. It whizzed over her head and slammed into Martha's neck. The teen squealed, whipping the melting snow from her skin. She began to dance as the freezing water slithered under clothes and down her back. Jamie held his stomach and pointed at the distressed girl, laughing with tears in his eyes.

"Oh yeah?" Martha smirked, leaning down to scope up a pile of snow.

The strange woman's eyes grew wide, forgetting that she still wore her invisibility glamour, she jumped between the two, waving her arms and pleading, "No, no, no. Don't do it! You almost had it!"

"I'll show you what's funny," the girl laughed as she threw the snowball straight at Jamie's face. The beautiful woman watched in slack-jawed horror as the snowball slammed into the teen, silencing his laughter for a moment. Then, with a dramatic flair, he wiped the snow from his face and let loose a cry of challenge. Without further ado, an epic snowball fight began.

Jack grinned as the teen's played in front the theater. It was just like old times. His mysterious opponent, however, continued to fret over the couple. But her efforts were in vain. Jack's mischievous magic had already taken hold.

Cupping his hand to his mouth, he called out to her, "There's nothing you can do." He grinned as she turned towards him and glared menacingly. There was something about her. The expressions she gave in response to his teasing made his heart do odd little flips. Needling her was becoming addicting. "Don't be a spoil sport," he added as he gathered another magic snowball in the hand behind his back. "Just join the fun."

His snowball came out of nowhere and accelerated with unnatural speed. If she had not been so distracted by the teens behind her, or the rage she felt, she may have dodged it. Instead, the cold clump of water and ice splashed against her chest with a dull thud. She screeched in dismay as the snow dripped down her tank top, causing her breasts to do interesting things. Interesting things Jack never knew breasts could do. As she swiped at the wet snow, making the mischievous sprite stare, his magic began to do its work.

A laugh escaped her prefect red lips. In surprise, she clasped her hands over her mouth, trying to control the sudden flood of playfulness Jack knew was coming. She struggled against the rising tide of laughter, her shoulders shacking against the strain. Looking up at him, her mirthful eyes dancing like a pair of leaves in a babbling brook, Jack felt a goofy grin pull at his lips. It must have been a hilarious sight, for the strange woman, unable to restrain herself any longer, let loose a whooping cry of laughter. With one swift motion she scoped up a snowball and through it at Jack. He easily dodged it and threw another. The woman laughed, the sound like a hundred tinkling bells, as she managed to catch the ball and swiftly return it, briefly blinding him.

It was exhilarating. Jack had never known anyone who could match him in a snowball fight. And yet, this mysterious woman was not only keeping up with him, she was giving him a run for his money. She kept him on his toes, surprising him with sneak attacks and feints. Apparently, the bow and arrow had not been for show. Her aim was true and she rarely missed. He could only imagine how deadly she would be if she used her weapon of choice, and not snowballs, against him.

The beautiful woman slipped on a patch of ice, momentarily losing her balance. Seeing his chance, Jack rolled his hands together, amassing a giant snowball the size of his head. He threw the monstrosity at his opponent, but with a less then graceful scramble, she dived into a snowbank, landing on her back. The giant snowball, missing its target, found its home in the back of Jamie's mop of scruffy brown hair.

The woman and Jack laughed hysterically at the teen as the snowball launched him forward into to Martha and down onto the snowbank. A cloud of freshly powdered snow puffed out as the couple landed with a whump.

In the silence that followed, the two teens stared at each other. A pink tint spread across Martha's cheeks and Jamie, deciding it was now or never, leaned in. Jack cried out in panic and lunged at the boy, only to find the damnable woman in the way, arms spread and eyes determined. Forgetting the ice, he tried to maneuver around her only to find himself slipping and falling headlong into her face… and her lips

If Jack thought her breasts were interesting, nothing compared to this. He suddenly understood why people always seemed to find excuses to kiss. Their lips, fitting together like a jigsaw puzzle, made him feel like his blood was on fire.

Braced above her, his body caging her own, all thoughts of Jamie were swept from Jack's mind. Angling his head slightly to allow better access to her mouth, the woman gasped and Jack boldly invaded her mouth with his tongue. As their mouths and tongues battled, she grasped his shoulders. For a moment he feared she might push him away, but instead, she drew him closer. Wrapping one arm around his neck, she buried her other hand in his hair and held tight. It was pure heaven and all Jack could think was how to get closer to her, how to make this feeling even better.

From beside them, Jack heard Martha giggle and his heart dropped. Ripping his lips from the women beneath him, he watched in horror as Jamie lifted his head up and away from his first sweet kiss. The boy's eyes were slightly dazed, but he looked happier than Jack had seen him in years. Again, Martha giggled beneath her date and pushed him slightly.

With a delicate blush she said softly, "You're squishing me, Jamie."

"Oh?" the boy asked dreamily. Martha gave him an amused smirk and he shook his head. "Oh, sorry," he got up and offered her his hand.

As the two brushed each other off and nuzzled sweetly, Jack desperately untangled himself from the woman beneath him and pushed away the cherub who had apparently been trying to pry Jack off his mistress. He removed his glamour and jumped in front of the boy, frantically waving his hands. Jamie simply ignored the sprite. With a few steps, he and his companion passed right through him as if he were no more substantial than an early morning mist.

Jack stared blankly ahead of him, rooted to the spot. He did not turn to watch the couple walk hand in hand down the sidewalk. He did not see them exchange a quick, chaste kiss as they turned the corner. All he saw at that moment was emptiness.

The strange woman shifted slightly from her position on the snow bank and watched as the couple left. Sighing contentedly, she grinned up at Frost, her checks flushed a lovely shade of pink. She said wistfully, "I am so happy they finally kissed. They make a good couple."

Jack's head snapped around and he glared down at her. This was all her fault. This vile demon, with her kisses and breasts. She distracted him long enough to steal Jamie away from him; to corrupt the boy; to make him a man.

Enraged, he called forth a mighty wind that threw his crook into his hands. With a determined glare, he pointed the source of his power at the startled woman and coldly stated, masking his pain, "You! You are truly malicious." His words seemed to hit her like a blow to the gut. "You have made a deadly enemy tonight."

Jack could not name all the emotions that warred across the woman's lovely face, but hurt was definitely one of them. He expected her to say something, anything in response, but she remained silent. Had she raged at him or cried or even hit him, he would have known what to do. But her silence did something to him. It clawed at his heart in a way he never knew possible.

Unable to take it any longer, he jumped on to his crook and flew off into the orange haze of the cloudy night sky. But no matter how fast or high he flew, he could not escape the look he saw in her green eyes. They enraged him and filled him with such guilt it made his head spin.

After what may have been hours of him warring with himself, Jack spotted a lonely place to rest his weary head. Landing in a plowed field, he collapsed on the ground, sending tendrils of frost across the brown earth. Looking up into the night sky, he watched as the full moon peaked its head out from behind the clouds. Lying on his back, Jack reached up towards the Man in the Moon.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked, expecting no answer. The Man in the Moon rarely spoke. He moved in his own time, at his own pace. But was it Jack's imagination, or did the Moon look worried?

Before the sprite could contemplate this, a large shaggy head eclipsed his view of the Moon. The shadowy figure grumbled unintelligibly at Jack and pointed a white, furry finger at him.

"Oh, hey, Phil," Jack said in dour humor. He should have known that this particular yeti would show up right when he was least wanted. To say that the two had a history would be an understatement. For as long as Jack could remember, he had been trying to break into North's workshop at the pole. And for longer the Phil cared to recall, he managed to thwart every attempt.

Rolling slightly to see around the yeti's fuzzy head, Jack asked nonchalantly, "How you been?"

Phil glared down at the prone man. He spoke again in his garbled language and then pointed sternly at the snow globe in his hand.

Jack sighed. He didn't want to deal with Mr. North right now. He only ever sent his yetis if he wanted to talk and that was the last thing Jack felt like doing. The Guardian had just lost his first true friend, not to mention whatever the hell happened between him and that strange woman. At that moment, all Jack wanted to do was curl up into a little ball of self-righteous indignation and have himself a good sulk. So, looking Phil straight in the eye, he stated in feigned ignorance, "I can't understand you when you are yelling at me like that."

Putting his hands on its hips, Phil gave the Guardian an admonishing look. However, seeing that this tactic obviously did not faze the man, he huffed in consternation, blowing some of his long hair not held by a pony tail out of his eyes. Reaching down, he grabbed Jack by the arm and pulled him to his feet.

"Hey, HEY!" Jack protested, "I can stand on my own, thank you."

The yeti reluctantly let Jack go, but insistently pushed the snow globe at him.

Jack took the globe and rubbed at the back of his neck, asking in irritation, "I'm guessing this can't wait?"

The yeti shook his head solemnly, concern etched into his furry features. Something was going on, something that even had the yetis worried. That was never good. Jack may be hurting right now, but he was a Guardian, and contrary to the beliefs of some, he took his job very seriously.

Making up his mind, Jack tossed the globe in hand before saying, "Let's go see what he wants." He then took the snow globe and threw it to the ground. It erupted in a swirl of color and sparks, filling the air with the sounds of bells and Christmas carols. From out of the swirling vortex, he could clearly see Santa's work shop.

With yeti in tow, Jack leapt into the portal. Had he known what was to come, he may never have left that field.

* * *

The large black beetle had seen it all through his multi-faceted eyes: the confrontation, the kiss and the declaration of war. The ugly little thing chittered excitedly from its perch on a snow covered dumpster. Stretching his iridescent wings, he alighted into the air, leaving behind the little nowhere street in the tiny nowhere town. He had seen it all and he knew his mistress would be pleased.


	3. Chapter 3: Truly Malicious

**Author's Notes: **Remember how I said this story acknowledges the existence of sex? This chapter is why ;)

Also, thanks to all who are fav/following and leaving reviews. I love to hear what you have to say.

* * *

Chapter 3: Truly Malicious

_In Which a Beetle make some Waves, a Villain is Rescued, and a Centuries Old Plan is at Last Set in Motion_

Waves rose up high to tower over the world as a terrible storm ravaged the Atlantic. Clouds roiled in colors of brown, green and pitch black. Now and then, a flash of jagged white lightning struck the waves, sending hissing steam into the tortured atmosphere. The storm was a mystery. It was as if some cruel god was racking his fingers across the ocean, unleashing the vile demons of Hell.

For years to come, this storm would baffle scientists. It appeared out of nowhere, reaching out from the East coast of North America to extend its fury as far West as Europe. The few who would survive the storm's wrath and make their shaky way back to port would tell anyone with a stiff drink that the storm pierced the blue sky like a vicious spear; as if it followed in the wake of some unseen force. Of course, these stories would be summarily dismissed as the ramblings of brain addled sailors. And yet, these stories would be the closest to the truth.

The ugly black beetle, his carapace flashing dangerously as lightning arced overhead, made his speedy way across the tumultuous sea. Terrible black thunderheads rose in his wake and the sea boiled where he passed. For he carried with him a dark purpose, one that caused nature itself to cry out in pain.

When he made land fall, the storm slammed into the rocky coast like it hit a wall. The great thunderheads strained against the invisible barrier, trying to follow the swiftly retreating black speck as it was swallowed by the towering conifers.

The beetle darted through the dark foliage, the last remnants of an ancient forest. There were few such places left in Europe. The rest having been logged centuries ago. But this forest, deep and dark and untouched by man, held a long forgotten power. This was a place where magic still held sway, where the coming night awoke old things; things that tricked and stole and strive to quench their ravenous hunger. It was from deep within the heart of this place that the beetle heard the haunting call of his mistress; sweet and seductive, like arsenic on the tongue.

He followed the lilting melody till he reached an opening in the trees. There, on top of a moon lit hill, stood four gnarled oaks. Their branches intertwined into an eerie parody of a child's bed. No mattress buffeted its harsh, rotten frame. It stood stark and lonely, creaking in the rustling wind as painful cries rose up from the gaping black hole beneath its boards. The bed was a token of things that go bump in the night. A reminder that no matter how many times you tell yourself there is nothing under your bed, that there is nothing to be afraid of; a tiny voice in your head will always whisper… maybe.

A small, lithe figure stood beside the sorrowful structure, staring down into the gaping abyss. The ominous figure was grabbed in a rich black cloak that stirred to an unknown wind, as if it were alive. All that could be seen of the figures face, obscured by a heavy hood, were dark red lips that smiled cruelly at the anguished screams rising up from beneath the earth.

The long, gleaming mandibles of the beetle clicked excitedly at the sight of his mistress. He darted around her head, catching her undivided attention. She rose a pale unadorned arm, the shade of bleached bone, from beneath her shifting cloak and extended it, palm up, to her loyal servant. He alighted upon her proffered hand, spindly legs prickling her delicate, cold skin.

For a brief moment, all was still in that barren glade. The cloak ceased its restless wandering as the beetle sought out the blood red eyes hidden deep within the shadows of the cowl. In a flash, their eyes locked and the world held its breath. Colors danced within the beetle's multi-faceted eyes, like a hellish fire lit from within. Once his mistress saw what she was looking for, she laughed. It held no mirth. Her laugh was harsh and callous. It shattered the world into a million little shards and slithered down the spine. She released her beetle as her cloak once again began to move to its absent wind. He lazily rose from his perch and settled upon her shoulder, melding with his brethren in the weave of her cloak.

Removing her cowl, her oily black hair to rolled down her back in sheets and she grinned like a fox in a hen house. Her dark eyes glistened like the iridescent carapace of her multitudinous followers.

The woman's face was young. The only hint to her age lying in the tautness of her skin and the sharpness of her features, like a death shroud drawn over a gaunt facade. For she was ancient and Cruel. However, that was only one of the many names she collected over the countless millennia. She was Cruel, but she was also Vicious. She was Discord and to too many, she was Strife. Others knew her as Misery, a Plague on the world, an Abhorrent curse. But mostly, she was truly Malicious.

Taking a delicate step, the sharp dry grass crunching beneath her bare feet, she slid down the yawning hole. She plummeted through the bowels of the earth, her cape and garments billowing around her like insect wings. When she landed, she was shrouded in darkness. Through the dim murk, she could make out fallen and decaying structures. Bed posts and broken cages littered the floors.

A piercing wail reverberated through the cavernous gloom and Malicious rolled her hellish eyes. True, she had left the idiot to wallow in his failure for nine years (she thought it would teach him a lesson in patience), but if she had known he would be such a baby about it, she never would have returned.

Following the steady stream of cries and pathetic sniveling, she made her way down several long, winding corridors. At last, she found an archway that opened into a vaulted cavern, its expanse obscured by darkness. Her eyes lazily scanned the dim space till she spotted what she was looking for. There, in the center of the room was a terrible swirling vortex of sparkling black sand. Here and there, she caught glimpses of a cowering figuring in the heart of the maelstrom.

Striding through the room, the black sand parted before her like the Red Sea. As she approached the prone man, it drew back from him and coalesced into a herd of jet black stallions with eyes that glowed like embers. They pawed at the earth, making him cringe and curl in on himself.

It was a pathetic display of cowardice, and Malicious sneered, "Show some bloody back bone, Pitch. You're embarrassing me."

The man's head popped up and he looked around in dazed confusion. Pitch Black had once been a man to be feared. After all, he _was_ Fear. But the nine years of torment had not been kind to him. Long lines marred his pallid, hawkish face and his sleeked black hair had become a long, wild mane. His elegant trench coat was rumpled and soiled by the years of neglect. He barely resembled the handsome pupil she had taken under wing all those centuries ago.

Catching sight of Malicious, Pitch's crazed eyes grew wide. Crawling hand over foot, he desperately grasped her slender hand and groveled at her feet, crying, "You came! I knew you'd come for me. I knew you would never abandon me."

Malicious shook off his cloying fingers and kicked him away. "Pathetic," she derided. "If I did not have need of you, I would simply leave you to rot. A just punishment for your foolishness." The Nightmares whinnied and Pitch cowered under their heated glares.

"I did only what you taught me…" Pitch desperately defended, only to be cut off by Malicious' small white hand crushing his trachea. She pulled him up on his feet and brought him down till she could stare him straight in the eye.

"No," she hissed in his reddening face, her black cloak closing around them and chitter-ing wildly. "You squandered my teachings and tipped your hand before all the cards were dealt. Had you shown some patients…" she glowered at him, letting his neck go in disgust, she turned her back on him and paced away.

Wobbling slightly on his feet, Pitch gasped for breath as he rubbed at his sore throat. He had forgotten how strong the woman was and how cruel. A sly smirk pulled at his lips. By all that was unholy, she was perfect.

Finding some of his sanity returning, Pitch straightened and ran a hand through his tangled mane. Magically, it slicked itself back into a perfect coif, though still much longer than it once was. Similarly, his skilled hands rolled over the surface of his soiled garments and replaced them with spotless black fabrics that clung to his lean frame in straight lines. He was not completely whole again, but he was closer to his evil self then he'd been in nearly a decade. Placing his hands smoothly behind his back, he approached his malevolent mentor.

"Malicious," he tried to reason with her, his tone even and controlled, "Three centuries is a long time to wait on a plan… GAH!" A Nightmare suddenly appeared in front of him and whinnied, making him jump back in fear. The rest of the Nightmares neighed in sadistic glee and slowly began to close in on him.

"I'm sorry," Malicious called over her shoulder as she examined her long, red nails. "I don't think I heard you right, because it _sounded _like you were making more _excuses,_" she sing-songed.

Barely managing to keep the terror from his voice, Pitch pleaded, "Please, Malicious… I… I should have listened to your wise counsel. Please!" He begged as he felt the hot breath of the Nightmares on his neck, "Forgive me!"

Malicious turned, and grinned sweetly at the cowering Pitch, like a spoiled child whose parents caved after a tantrum. With a flick of her wrist, she dispelled the creatures. They dispersed into a cloud of twinkling black sand that fell uselessly to the floor. Pitch looked up and, seeing his tormentors gone, gave a sigh of relief. He resolved then and there to never use those horrid monstrosities again.

"Oh sweet, sweet little Pitch," Malicious cooed, reaching out with a hand a caressing his sweat soaked cheek. She sighed happily when he managed to only wince slightly. He was getting some of his nerve back. Good. She had no use for broken toys.

Leaning forward, she planted a smoldering kiss on his cold lips. Smirking, she stepped back from him and said, "I could never stay mad at you."

It took a moment for Pitch to unclench his hands and regain control of his voice. Her kisses always did that to him, and she knew it. That was why she did it. He held no illusions. What they had wasn't love and it was barely lust. No, she played with him because she reveled in the exquisite form of torture it inflicted on him, and he craved it like a junkie.

Taking her slim hand in his, he brought her delicate fingers to his lips. As he feathered kisses across her skin, he asked, "Is it finally time?"

The woman shivered, causing her dress of rags to rustle beneath her writhing cloak. "Oh yes," she breathed, "The pieces are falling into place." She sighed blissfully as Pitch turned her hand over and nipped at the pulse in her wrist. "And," she wrapped a cloaked arm around his waist and pulled him forward, "it is due, in part, to you."

"Oh?" Pitch cocked his brow at the vile woman in his arms. Leaning forward, he nibbled her ear lobe and asked, "How's that?"

A horrible smile warped her features as she grasped his long black hair. Pulling his ear down to her red lips, she whispered, "Jack Frost."

Pitch froze at the mention of that name. Malicious pulled back to see the fear and rage war across his face. Oh, how the Boogieman was her favorite toy. He never ceased to entertain her, to make her nefarious plots just that much sweeter. She asked coquettishly, "Do I have your undivided attention?"

The lean man gripped her tightly as he spoke through clenched teeth, "Completely."

"Good." She pushed him away and paced across the black sand. "He's the one who finally managed to kiss the frigid bitch…"

"He WHAT?!" Pitch exclaimed in disbelief.

"I know, right?!" Malicious laughed at the absurdity of it all. He was the last person on the planet she thought would do the deed, but he had slipped so perfectly on the sheet of ice her minion's presence crafted. All her beetles possessed this ability; to engender discord and strife where ever they were. It was quite pitiful how easily the boy feel into her trap. And because it was him, not some lowly human, it would make the betrayal cut much more deeply.

"The little whelp became a Guardian, thanks to you," she explained, watching as Pitch clenched his fists. Smirking, she continued, "I had hoped some mythical being would be the one to do it… but a Guardian? It is just too good to be true!" She opened her arms and twirled about the cave with joy. A few of her beetles dislodged from her cloak and swirled about their heads. Suddenly stopping, she turned to Pitch and with a grim voice added, "But the timing couldn't be worse. We have six days till the Blood Moon rises."

"Not much time at all," Pitch conceded. "But," he said in a brazenly board tone. Her eyes narrowed as he strolled up to her. Peering down with a wickedly calculating gleam in his eye, he asked, "What's in it for me?"

She fixed his gaze with a deadly glare, "Besides your head securely attached to your shoulders?"

Feeling his courage falter slightly, he uncertainly replied, "Yes?"

Malicious smiled, her face resembling that of ghoulish fiend, "I only have one thing to offer: Vengeance. Vengeance on the children who refused to believe in you; on the Guardians who defeated you; and on the man who imprisoned you in this," she waved a hand, indicating the cold, dark cavern with disdain, "horrid cage. That is my bargain, you pathetic excuse for a man. I will not offer it again."

Oh, she did know just what to say. Pitch reached out and grabbed her, pulling Malicious into a vice like grip. Grinning ruthlessly down at her bemused face, he smirked, "Such sweet talk." Leaning in, he captured her lips in a rough, punishing kiss. Malicious bit back, filling their mouths with the acrid taste of blood and stoking their desire. Drawing his mouth from her lips, he began to leave a trail of burning, open mouthed kisses down her neck, all the while saying, "You had me at _Vengeance_."

Malicious rolled her head back to allow him better access to her ivory throat and dug her blood red nails into his hair. He was such a lovely toy, and so easy to control.

When he reached the beetle that clasped the cloak around her neck he paused. "So," he asked slyly, lapping at the exposed skin of collar, "We have six days?"

"Yes," the woman gasped in pleasure, wrapping her leg around his waist.

"Plenty of time," Pitch smirked, dislodging the ugly black beetle and pushing her cloak to the floor.


	4. Chapter 4: The Facts of Life

Chapter 4: The Facts of Life

_In Which Baba North Learns her Husband can, at times, be Right_

"JACK!" North cried. His great bellow reverberated off the wooden walls as the white haired man stumbled out of the portal and onto the third floor of North's workshop, slamming face first into Phil's furry backside.

"Ugh!" Jack recoiled in disgust from the understandably startled yeti. The frost sprite immediately stuck out his tongue and rapidly brushed it with his hands, desperately trying to remove long strands of coarse fur from his mouth.

North laughed jovially as he strode towards the retching boy. The large man had been toiling away at his workbench, designing new toys for the yetis to replicate. He was dressed down with a simple pair of dark canvas pants with intricately embroidered suspenders. The sleeves of his plain, red, button up shirt were hiked up over his massive forearms, displaying his ornate "Naughty" and "Nice" tattoos.

Taking these muscled arms, he picked up the scrawny, struggling Jack and squeezed him in a deadly bear hug. It was sad, really, North noted. The boy was practically full grown, but he barely put on any muscle and he scarcely reached North's nose in height. Apparently, Frost was doomed to be tiny. At least he finally grew out of that hoodie. In North's expert opinion, the dark blue blazer he now sported was far better.

After a moment, North was jostled from his thoughts by a rapid tapping on his forearm and he looked down. Jack's blue-ish pallor was quickly turning purple and the boy gasped, "Air…"

"Oopsie," North cringed with embarrassment as he unceremoniously dumped Jack on his bare feet. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he admitted, his Russian accent thick, "It has been long time since I see you, Jack. You no write. You no call." He pinched his huge fingers together, "I got a tinsy winsy carried away."

"Tinsy?!" Jack wheezed in disbelief. It felt like half the bones in his body had been crushed.

North shrugged and Jack sighed. There were some wonderful perks to being an immortal with mystical ties to the universe. However, the downside was that once you were set in your ways, they were set… forever. North was never going to change. It was a blessing and a curse. Shaking his head, Jack said curtly, "You called. I'm here. What do you want?"

The sprite's brevity made North raise a suspicious eyebrow. In the years following his rise to Guardianship, North had taken the time to get to know the boy. And if there was only one thing he learned about Jack Frost, it was that he was not a man of few words. He used his words; loudly, often and usually as snarky as possible.

Leaning in to examine the boy more closely, he asked guardedly, stroking his long white beard, "Jack, what is matter?"

"Nothing," Jack deflected, trying to side step the large man. North barely had to shift his weight to block his path. "Look," Jack grumbled in irritation, "I came because whatever you need to tell me, _apparently_, can't wait. Let's just get on with it so we can fix whatever needs fixing and I can leave." Looking around, Jack suddenly realized that beyond the usual cluster of yetis and elves in Santa's workshop, he and North were the only Guardians present. "Uh… where is everybody?"

North eyed him closely and said, "This needed talking before others arrive. Want to pick brain. Make sure I can explain to others."

Jack stared up at North, utterly flummoxed, "What are you talking about?"

The large man pointed up and Jack's eyes followed. Up above the bustling workshop, in the center of the ceiling, was a giant oculus. It opened out onto the arctic night sky. The waxing moon was perfectly framed in the circular skylight, casting its silver glow down on the giant replica of the Earth North kept in the middle of his workshop. Solemnly, the old man said, "Man in Moon tells me that you," he turned to Jack and pressed his finger against the boy's chest, "caused ending of world tonight."

The silence that followed was broken by Jack's hysterical laughter. He had to. It was absolutely absurd. There was no way he did anything to end the world. Wasn't that something a person tended to notice? Like in the movies, there was supposed to be a giant gleaming red button that says, _Don't Push. _Since he knew he hadn't done anything like that, it had to be some weird joke. It was the only thing that made sense.

Jack wiped a tear from his cheek and chortled, slapping a hand on North's broad back, "Ah, thanks Nick. I needed a good laugh."

North glowered down at Jack, arms folded, "This is not laughing matter."

"Seriously?" Jack asked, incensed. When he saw the look in the large man's gleaming eyes, it felt like a knife twisting in his gut. "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE JOKING!" he cried, throwing up his hands in disbelief. "What could I have possibly done to end the world?!"

The man's bushy white brows furrowed, "That is what I would like to be knowing."

Jack stared dumbfounded at the large old man. The sprite couldn't believe what he was hearing. Did North actually believe that he would ever put the world in danger? It surprised him how deeply the old Guardian's accusation cut.

Before either could say another word, a matronly Russian voice called out from behind them, "Lyubov moy, leave myshka alone!" A large, silver haired woman in a beautiful, red, and green embroidered black dress with long, puffy white sleeves climbed up the wooden stairs and draped a protective arm over Frost's shoulders. Glaring daggers at North, she said, "Can you not be seeing he is already having bad day?"

"But lapochka!" North protested. He was immediately silenced by a stern look from the old woman's fierce brown eyes.

"Don't you lapochka me!" she pursed her lips and placed her fists on her ample hips. Wagging a finger at her husband, she admonished, "This is no way to be treating guest."

"But… crisis!" North cried in exasperation, indicating the moon, then his giant spinning globe rising from the ground level of his workshop.

The old woman rolled her eyes and shooed him away, "There is always being crisis." Turning on her heels she captured Jack's face in two large, well-worn hands. With a loving smile she said matter-of-factly, "Now then, tell Baba North what is problem."

Baba North was everything you could want in a grandmother. Like her husband, she was larger than life, both in height and size. She was comfortably plump, wearing her weight like a suit of armor, rather than as extra baggage. The wrinkles on her face spoke of a lifetime full of laughter and warm smiles. Her long silver hair was pulled back into a tight bun, but wisps of downy fuzz had worked their way out, softening the otherwise austere look. The woman was unbelievably strong due, in part, to her and North's daily fencing matches. And when she was mad, she cursed like a Russian sailor, traumatizing any elf within earshot. She was self-reliant, extremely opinionated, and seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to people's troubles. So when something went wrong in Santa's workshop, everyone knew to get out of her way.

"It's nothing," Jack managed to squeeze out through his squished cheeks. Trying to smile, he added, "Really."

"Chush' sobach'ya," the old woman cursed, but not unkindly. Several yetis gasped and North grabbed the elves that he could, covering their innocent ears. It was the normal drill.

Jack had no idea what Baba North said, but he understood her meaning. She was calling him out and, based on the look in her eye, it would be a lot easier on everybody if he just gave in.

So with a deep, pained sigh, unable to meet her gaze, Jack said, "Jamie had his first kiss."

North bellowed, a happy grin spreading across his face, "But that is great news!" The little elves around him began to dance a little jig in celebration.

Baba North gave her husband a warning glance, causing the elves to freeze mid jig, before returning her attention back to the little boy, just barely a man, in her hands. She knew what this was about. With a heavy heart, she said, "He can be no longer seeing you." It was not a question, for they all knew the answer.

Jack nodded in her grasp. He tried to fight the tears that were threatening to burst, but it was hard. Sensing this, Baba North let go of his face only to embrace him in the most caring hug he had ever received. It was warm and her grip was tight. But instead of feeling crushed, like with North's bear hug, he felt supported; braced on all sides and protected. The hug offered no more, nor less then what it was; a symbol of understood sorrow, a boon for the pain. Surrounded by such love, Jack let lose all the anguish he felt inside. He cried, morning the friend he lost.

After what seemed like ages, Jack found he had no more tears to shed. Baba North slowly opened her arms and allowed the young man to step away. "There," she said, wiping away a tear. She then leaned down to pick up a hot mug of coco brought on a silver tray by one of the elves. Turning she offered the happily steaming mug to Jack, saying, "That is much better, yes?"

Nodding, Jack took the proffered mug and drank the rich chocolaty liquid. To his surprise, he _was_ better. The pain was still there, and he had a feeling it would continue to be for a long time. But it helped to know that someone, anyone understood how he felt. It somehow made it easier to bare.

Baba North led Jack over to a bench in one of the alcoves on the floor. Offering him a seat, she settled herself next to him. With one hand, she gingerly patted his knee while she agitatedly signaled her husband to join them with the other.

North shuffled over, tripping over several elves and grumbling about them always being under boot. He sat awkwardly next to Jack, completely at a loss as to what to do. Comforting adults was not something he was used to. His expertise was purely with children… and yetis and elves, but none of that could help him with Jack. Unfortunately, it appeared Mrs. North wanted him to take it from here.

Rubbing at the back of his neck, North decided that honesty was his best option. Turning to the quiet young man, he began, "I am sorry, Jack. Losing your first… it is never easy." Shaking his head, he recalled the little blue eyed girl that smiled at him for the first time. He sighed, "You never truly forget them… and they never truly forget you." Wrapping an arm around the boy, he continued, "But you are needing to be happy for Jamie. First kiss is very important. Very special."

"Why?" Jack asked grumpily, hiding his reddening face in his mug. "What makes it so special? And why does it have to mean Jamie can't see me anymore? It's stupid."

North opened his mouth to answer, but paused. He had no idea where to begin. It was all very complicated and he was always horrible at explaining complicated things. Turning to his wife, he gave her a pleading look.

Sighing at her floundering husband, she turned to Jack and explained, "It is fact of life. Immutable. For child, they see world in one way; small, but full of wonder," she turned and smiled lovingly at her husband, tenderly caressing his cheek. "Adults, they see world in whole other way. For them, it is big and complicated. They know there is pain, but they also experience beauty no child can understand." Her warm eyes danced knowingly as North waggled his eyebrows at her. Then turning to Jack, she added, "That is what first kiss is: a door. Once door is open and you walk through, you can never go back."

Jack rubbed an absent minded finger against the side of his mug. It was half empty now with swiftly cooling coco sludge. After a while he said, "I tried to stop it, you know."

Baba North nodded sagely, "It is a hard thing; letting go."

"But you don't understand," Jack insisted, standing up and pacing away from the couple. Turning around, he explained, "It's worked before."

"Jack!" the old woman cried out in horror as she clutched her breast, acting as if he had just cursed in church.

North stood up and strode toward Frost. Wagging his finger accusingly he bellowed, "You mean to be telling me you kept own dear friend from first kiss?!"

"How could you?" North's wife asked, reproachfully.

"But it did work," Jack defended, completely unrepentant. "And it would have worked this time too if that weird bow girl hadn't shown up."

North froze mid stride, eyes bulging like he had just stepped in something smelly and awful. Glancing back at his wife who sported a similar wide eyed stare, he slowly turned back to Jack and asked, tone deadly serious, "What bow girl?"

"The bow girl with the cherubs," Jack shrugged, uncomprehendingly. "I guess she's in charge of those little winged bastards."

Shaking his head, North signaled the sprite to slow down. "Wait, wait," North said as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, "You mean to be telling me that you saw _Lovely_?"

"Huh. So that _was_ her _name_," Jack said as the realization finally dawned on him. "Saw her… fought her. What's the big deal? Why do you all look so pale?"

"Bozhe moy," North slapped a hand over his head and ran it down his face. "Oky doky, you are to be telling me _exactly_ what happened."

So, a bit uncomfortably, Jack told the couple everything that happened on that lonely street outside the movie theater: the confrontation, the fight. But when he got to the kiss, North exploded.

"YOU DID WHAT?!" he cried, sending elves scattering and ducking for cover.

Baba North stared, thunderstruck, at the fool in front of them. Then looking to her husband, she spoke words she rarely said. "I am sorry, lyubov moy. You are right. This… this is crisis."

* * *

**Author's note: **Russian translations.

Lyubov moy= my love.

Myshka= little mouse.

Lapochka= essentially it means sweetheart or darling.

Chush' sobach'ya= roughly translates as bull shit.

Bozhe moy= Oh my God.


End file.
